PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In these hollowed halls we run,
I can remember the day when it was fun.

But in here all that exists is an individual summer,
Preserved to the cruelty of time;
To which there isn't any concept of rhyme.

After all this, we were granted our wish,
To see the world in which we created.

Is it any better than where we dwell?

How many times did you crawl upon my shoulders,
To peer through the cracks of bricks?

A glimpse of the sun and the pleasures of nature.

Then you distort and turn leaves like thin elements,
Of the unknown center of existence.

If only we could awake to the rotting staring faces,
And these multicolored printed shirts still seem clean;
My walkman is always on the same track.

And the proverbial empty night is calling us again.